Moral Radar
by Camillo
Summary: Series 10 Harry/Ruth from William Towers' point of view. And the Home Secretary has his own agenda! Choc-full of spoilers but not ardent speculation.


Long time, no post! Sorry about that, but there are some good reasons. I'm also still slowly working away at Not Close Enough and Fragments.

This is a quick one-shot only. It's a light-hearted look at the series 10 spoilers from this week, and although there are vague elements of speculation, it's meant to be a wholly _incorrect_ interpretation of press release info, bits from the trailer and Nicola Walker's recent Life of Wilie interview hints.

I doff my tattered baseball cap in the direction of espiyo when mentioning "Billy" Towers. I'm afraid can't write him as well as you can!

The usual disclaimers apply.

**SERIES 10 SPOILERS**

**REALLY**

**Moral Radar**

I'm the Home Secretary. The _Home_ Secretary. Not the Foreign-bloody-Secretary. And yet here I stand, Billy Benjamin Towers MP, tasked with making the Prime Minister's radical new vision of foreign policy a reality.

Don't get me wrong. We're as near as dammit a Conservative government. We're about big business, and small budgets, and the public sector should stop whining about pension plans and do some bloody work for a change. And I'm all for getting Britain back in profit sometime in the next century, of course. (Although, I'm secretly rather pleased that we have a better credit rating than America. A country that genuinely believes it's the best example of democracy in the world – whilst running Guantanamo Bay and relying on broken voting equipment to get a president into the White House, mind you – deserves to be taken down a peg or two. It's a crying shame for poor old Lighthouse, but you can't have everything.)

So they say that all the money is flowing east these days. The dollar is dead and the yuan is planning the funeral service. The Arab Spring has sprung and there's all this lovely oil under new ownership. But I've got a sneaking suspicion that the time he's been spending with the Chinese and the Russians has coloured the PM's vision somewhat.

Apparently, the way to cuddle up to Beijing and Tripoli (and, who knows, Saudi Arabia and Iran) is to woo Moscow first. I mean _really_ woo her. Litvinenko, schmenko! No more conniptions over corporate corruption! The Cold War was just an unfortunate blip. We both stood against Hitler, didn't we?

I've never been quite deluded enough to consider myself a Man of Principle – I'm a professional politician after all. But even my moral radar is beeping with increasing rapidity as I walk through the hallowed corridors of Whitehall. I'm here to fetch someone who knows more about wooing Russians than anyone else – figuratively _and_ literally if the rumours are true. And he definitely sees himself as a Man of Principle.

Righty-ho! This is the room. I think I'll just listen in for a while and pick my moment. I do enjoy making a grand entrance ...

~0~

'No, I am not in a relationship with Ruth Evershed.'

'But there are unresolved feelings.'

'No.'

'Feelings that you simply haven't acted on, then?'

'No!'

'May I remind you that we convened this tribunal to investigate the appropriateness of a treason charge, Sir Harry. If you wish to avoid legal proceedings, I suggest you answer our questions as truthfully and fully as you can.'

'Which is precisely what I'm trying to do. In fact, during my leave of absence, I took the liberty of preparing a report on Miss Evershed's activity as Section D's leading intelligence analyst. Obviously, I didn't have access to the Thames House mainframe, but if you'd care to check my account against the official files, you'll find that everything I've detailed is accurate.'

'With what purpose are you showing us this?'

'With the purpose of proving that _emotion_ had nothing to do with my decision to hand over Albany!'

'I beg your pardon?'

'The decision I had to make was this: save a useless piece of outdated scientific theory, or save the most experienced and skilled analyst that MI5 _and_ MI6 currently have.'

'Forgive me if I seem sceptical.'

'Read the report. And bear this in mind when you do it: since 9/11 – that's for ten years now – all our intelligence services have experienced incredible difficulty recruiting staff of Arabic, Afghani, Pakistani and North African origin. We still suffer from a dearth of people fluent in pertinent languages such as Persian, Arabic and Urdu. And, on top of this, our most senior staff with Russian expertise are rapidly dwindling in number. Retirement ... the lure of the expanding private sector ... need I go on?'

~0~

It's me again. I do believe my moment has arrived.

'Good morning, gentlemen! I'm so sorry for interrupting, but needs must and all that.'

'Home Secretary?'

'That's me! Listen, I'm afraid you're going to have to end your tribunal a trifle early. We need Sir Harry.'

'Sir Harry?'

'Yes. Urgent matter. Orders straight from the top. Can't say any more at the moment, but I'm sure you three will cotton on eventually. Harry? Are you ready? You've been granted a temporary reprieve.'

'I'm ready, Home Secretary.'

'Good. You don't mind if I have a quick look at that report of yours, do you? Sounds jolly interesting.'

'By all means. Here you go.'

'I remember Miss Evershed. Gave me some sound advice about the Russians last year?'

'That's the one.'

'Is she really that good?'

'She's probably better.'

'But still only an analyst, you say. I wonder what she'd be like with some real power behind her.'

'I couldn't say, Home Secretary.'

'No. No, I don't suppose you could.'

~0~

Oh, I say. She _didn't_.

She did, you know! Awfully clever of her to make the connections between "Djakarta is coming", the Rotterdam cell, the fuel depot explosion and Michael Collingwood. Thank goodness she did!

No wonder Sir Harry's been harbouring a yen the size of Lapland. And doing his level best to keep her locked up in that infernally claustrophobic grid, by the look of it. This girl is dynamite.

~0~

She should be running her own section, not making Harry's tea.

~0~

Lovely eyes, as well. A bit melancholic. Maybe a touch on the skinny side. But I bet some decent chocolate and a man who helps her to realise her potential would cheer her up.

I wonder what her smile is like.

I wonder.

~0~

Now this _is_ awkward. It took me quite a bit of effort to wriggle a spare hour into the schedule, escape from Whitehall and arrange a nice little _tête-à-tête_ with Ruth. Miss Evershed. Ruth.

It isn't raining. The tide is out. The trees on the south bank are looking lovely, and even the Thames mud isn't smelling too bad. My security detail seem to be keeping their distance, all right. I can see the woman in question, just over there at the bottom of the steps.

The only problem is that Harry Pearce obviously wants a _tête-à-tête_ too. Doesn't he know when to bow out and give the rest of us fellows a chance? I think I'll just try and conceal myself behind this lamp post. Optimistic, I know, but it's not like they're looking at anything but each other.

Ah ha! Forces aren't necessarily working against me. They seem to be having a bit of an argument.

"No, I wasn't sleeping with the enemy; she was a double-agent at the time."

Miss Evershed appears unimpressed by this argument.

"I don't know who is behind it. I'm going to have to stay close to her."

Oh, dear. It's not looking good for him.

"It was thirty-bloody-years ago! Yes, it was morally questionable, but the intelligence was vital."

Nope. She's still frowning.

"There's something else. I'm so sorry, Ruth."

I almost feel sorry for the man.

Almost.

"Sasha Gavrik might be my son."

Oh shit. Oh shit, oh shit, oh _shit_. Billy Benjamin, what have you done this time? He can't keep a straight operational head on for his wannabe girlfriend or his _surrogate_ son, let alone the real deal! And now he's kissing her, for God's sake, and she's letting him!

No. No, she's not. She's telling him to bugger off. That's my girl.

He's leaving. Stalking past me with a face like thunder. In spy parlance, I think I've just been made.

Oh, sweetheart! Don't cry!

I've got a clean hankie and I'm not afraid to use it. I _am_ afraid I'll need some help to rein Sir Harry in, should he get the paternal bit between his teeth at an inappropriate moment. Luckily, I know just the person for the job.

~0~

'Miss Evershed. Ruth. I hope you don't mind ... I couldn't help seeing ... You're fine? Well, I wanted to see what you thought about taking on a new section of your own. Feel you out, so to speak ...'


End file.
